OLD PAISLEY WORTHIES
“All, all are gone—the old familiar faces.”-- (Lamb)
Ae nicht, while I did ramble roon
The busy streets o’ Seestu toon,
A New- Year Card to me was sold,
In memory of the days of old.
That card depicted Daunie Weir,
Whase husky voice I used to hear
Telling hoo Meg wi’ Watty quarrelled
(As married folk s will in this warld),
An’ hoo they cam’ again to ’gree-
The hale accoont for ae bawbee.
There’s Willie Love, that cantie chiel
Whase face I used to ken sae weel;
Fu’ mony a curious wee nick-nack
Was stowed in his capacious pack:
I’ve heard it said that ance he went
To get Her Majesty’s consent
To fill Prince Albert’s vacant place-
He wis sae like in form and face;
But, och! Puir willie ne’er was seen
Upon the throne beside the Queen.
There’s Hungry Jamie an’ the wee Quack
Wha aftentimes wad stan’ an’ crack
Aboot their sorrow an’ their woe,
Then tae the dram shop aff wad go,
Discuss there, owre a friendly “jull”,
Hoo best they could the people gull;
An’ when their plan was a’ complete,
Wad seek the much-frequented street
An’ try wi a’ their wit an’ art,
Tae gar the folk an’ their siller part.
And, there’s oor auld freen’, Jock the Rat,
Wha had sae much auld-fashioned chat;
Tae learning he made nae pretence,
Nor ocht but canny, common sense
A weaver tae his trade was Jock,
But left the loom to wield the pock;
His pock’s contents I couldna tell—
That task would tackle Jock himsel’
I see the Charleston Puddock there,
The picture o’ abject despair.
I’ve seen him weep, and heard him sigh
For sympathy frae passers-by;
I’ve seen him try tae crack the croons
O’ tricky, rude, tormenting loons;
Yet Willie ne’er forgot the way
The Master taught His folks to pray,
And whiles “Our Father” wad repeat
Before some scanty meal o’ meat.
O, puir auld Paisley “bodies”! noo
Ye’ve bad yer toon a lang adieu;
Nae mair ye’ll stan’ as aft ye stood,
The centre o’ a motley crood;
Ye’ll carry on yer pranks nae mair
On Ne’erday nicht or James’ day Fair,
Nor trauchle ower, wi’ weary feet,
The Cross, Jail Square, or Sneddon Street.
Life’s weary facht ye’ve warsled thro’;
Nae mair ye’ll feel Misfortune’s froon,
Or poortith’s cauld han’ haud ye doon;
For Death has cleekit ye awa’
Frae scenes familiar, ane an’ a’;
An’ jist a memory remains
That ye were some o’ Seestu’s weans,
An’ leeved and dee’d here: rest yer banes.
